


We and Them and Us

by MaskoftheRay



Series: Prompt and Circumstance [12]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League: Doom, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Angsty Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne Has Feelings, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce and Clark comfort each other in their moments of grief, Canon Divergence, Clark Kent Needs a Hug, Clark Kent has Issues, Discussions of loss, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Heartache, Heartbeats, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kind of Based off Justice League: Doom, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Miscommunication, POV Clark Kent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sequel, Trust Issues, Use Your Words, all the feels, but also an amalgamation of canon, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: “And then he’s struck by a thought:theirs is a solitary love, an orphaned adoration.”Clark and Bruce have both experienced tragedy in their lives— both have experienced loss as well. But each man’s grief is different: Clark mourns something he neverhadwhile Bruce misses something helost. Now that they’re together (finally), maybe they can help each other through trying times... that is, if something (or one) else doesn’t tear them and the Justice League apart first. So when Batman’s betrayal of trust threatens to do just that, Clark, Bruce, and the league, must decide what happens next.Or the past is a thing that happens, but Bruce and Clark get to decide what they do with it. Together.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Batman/Superman, Bruce & the Justice League, Bruce Wayne & Clark Kent & Grief, Bruce Wayne & Thomas Wayne & Martha Wayne (mentioned), Bruce Wayne & his parents, Clark Kent & Alfred Pennyworth, Clark Kent & Jonathan Kent (mentioned), Clark Kent & Martha Kent, Clark Kent & Martha Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman) & Clark Kent, Diana (Wonder Woman) & Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Kal El & Krypton
Series: Prompt and Circumstance [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540885
Comments: 10
Kudos: 109





	We and Them and Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [love_so_quickly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_so_quickly/gifts).



> This is AN EXTREMELY, VERY LATE prompt fill for [love_so_quickly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_so_quickly/profile): “I love [“You Are and I Am”]. Can you write a sequel?” Sorry this took **so. freaking. long**. Hope you like it anyway! 
> 
> “I am filled with ink. A codex,  
>  splayed, opened, ready to be burned in the square— I am. I am and am and am. What have I done?”  
>  — from _When My Brother Was an Aztec_ , Natalie Diaz

**Krypton** (n): \krIp-tahn\ **1:** A planet orbiting the Red Dwarf Star, [Rao](https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Rao); formerly located in the Andromeda galaxy, sector 2813. Destroyed by core destabilization in the year 1990 CE. **2:** Home world of the [extraterrestrial](https://www.merriamwebster.com/dictionary/extraterrestrial) race known as Kryptonians; Kal El, a.k.a. [Superman](https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Superman), and Kara Zor El, a.k.a. [Supergirl](https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Supergirl), are the last full-blooded Kryptonians. The native language of the people was called Kryptonese, and Rao was considered to be the primary [deity](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/deity) of Kryptonians.

Kal El stares at the _Merriam-Webster_ dictionary entry, which is displayed on the Batcomputer’s screen. After a moment, he blinks. _That’s it. My home planet’s history, people, culture: summarized neatly in a few sentences. My people’s six-billion-year-old home described with nothing more than the five w’s and h of journalism_.

Somehow, the definition seems **cold**. Clinical— like Brainiac, or Luthor— in its dissevering of basic fact from feeling. His people had been _alive_ , once. They’d had dreams, and fears, and love, and children, and death. They’d had literature and art and science and politics. Wars. Evil. Good. _Hope_. And now they’re nothing more than a blip on a screen, largely forgotten, except for by Kara and—

“Clark,” Bruce (or rather, _Batman_ ) calls impatiently. Clark jolts in his seat, and glances up. Bruce’s worried frown escapes from the Bat’s dark cowl. “I called your name _three times_. Is everything alright?” _I’m worried_.

Clark— Superman, he’s _Superman_ right now; Bruce had asked him here to help with a league case— sighs. “Yeah. Yeah… I’m okay.” Rather than respond, Batman ghosts closer to his side and does a quick visual scan of the screen. After he finishes reading, Bruce still doesn’t say anything, except he **_does_** with his body language. Batman’s perfect stillness, and metronome-like heartbeat speak volumes.

“I didn’t know they’d done this,” he comments softly, after a moment.

“Neither did I. Until Kara texted me.” Bruce is silent, save for all the ways he’s _never_ silent.

“Ready to go over those scans?” Batman finally asks.

 _I could kiss him_. Superman grins. If it is a less sunny, more strained smile than usual, Batman doesn’t mention it. “Sure thing, B. Let’s get started.”

As they work, Batman is quiet. By now, Clark knows the other man well enough to be able to guess what he’s thinking. Bruce is not a _simple_ man by any definition, but he does have habits and patterns. One of them is his tendency to turn a problem or puzzle over and over in his head until it’s smooth, and polished. Bruce _also_ acknowledges— at least sometimes— that emotions can be perplexing to him; though, really, Clark is one to talk, what with the fiasco he caused while trying to get together with Bruce.

Anyway: if Batman has a problem, puzzle, or emotional perplexity to consider, he’ll ponder all the ways he may be able to solve it. Ponder the potential pitfalls of each solution, and then ponder them some more. So: Bruce is quiet. That either means he’s deeply involved in their work (not likely, given the ease of the task, and its minimal importance) or he’s thinking about something else— namely, Clark.

Bruce is thinking about Clark, and the upcoming anniversary of Krypton’s destruction. Which falls three days, approximately, after his birthday— because, no, of course Kal doesn’t even know the exact date he was **born**. Clark’s birthday is four days from now. There is a week until the anniversary. Therefore, Bruce is worried about him.

That knowledge brings a warm, somewhat-pleasant ache to his chest, because it shows that Bruce cares. The knowledge aches because when Bruce cares, he can be… **overzealous**. And Clark? He doesn’t want that. Not for this. Because while he may— and does— mourn the loss of the planet Krypton, Clark doesn’t _know_ Krypton.

_And how am I supposed to mourn something that I never knew, something that is **gone**? _

That is, in its essence, Kal El’s problem. He can’t ask Kara for advice, because Krypton wasn’t an idea, a gaping absence, to her. It was home. She grieves the planet differently than he does. Hell, Clark can’t even ask Bruce, for all that the other man knows grief, is intimate with loss.

Because there _is_ a difference between grieving something that was lost and something that was always gone.

Bruce _knew_ his parents, even if only briefly. Bruce is a Wayne— he can trace his familial roots centuries back through the dirt that is Gotham’s history— and Clark is an alien. An alien on a foreign planet, that speaks in a foreign tongue, without roots, experiencing an isolated, alien grief for an alien home he never knew. And no, _of course_ that’s not to say that Bruce’s grief is invalid or inferior. It’s just **different** — like coffee and tea, hotdogs and hamburgers, or day and night.

“Superman,” Batman growls, “take a look at this.”

“Sure thing, B. What am I looking at?” Clark’s thoughts about the difference between ‘lost’ and ‘gone’ slip away.

For his birthday, Bruce gets him two plane tickets to Smallville. This isn’t the first gift Batman’s given him, or even the first birthday present he’s received from the man. But it _is_ the first year that Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne are dating, so Clark’s not really sure what to expect. So when he opens his present, he’s surprised. “ **Two**? Thank you, Bruce, but why would I need even _one_ plane ticket to go see my—” he cuts himself off, as Bruce’s smirk gives away the game. Oh. _Oh. He’d bought **two** tickets because… because Bruce is finally coming to Kansas with me_.

“I’m coming with you,” Bruce says calmly. Or, at least he _tries_ to say it calmly. Clark can hear the hummingbird’s pace of his heartbeat, the nervous twitching of his fingers, the small, sharp inhalation that signifies Bruce’s apprehension. “I even put us on a _commercial_ flight. Business class.”

Clark grins, and practically lifts Bruce off the floor as he sweeps him into a hug. “Thank you!”

“I should return them just for how long it took you to figure it out,” Bruce grumbles. But Clark just laughs. Though his boyfriend may pretend to be put out, he can hear how _light_ Bruce’s heart is, and can see the way his mouth curls up into a smile. _For all his posturing, Bruce is really a romantic_.

Three days later, they’re in the air once again. It’s 5:30 a.m., and out the window, the sky has just turned a pale pink. For all his bitching about flying commercial, and not in first class, Bruce doesn’t seem to mind now; he’s passed out besides Clark, snoring. Or maybe it’s just that Batman isn’t used to catching early-morning flights. _Yeah, that’s probably it_. Clark’s mouth twists up in a soft smile as he watches his boyfriend’s chest rise and fall.

Bruce’s eyelids flicker as he’s caught in some dream.

It was a good trip. An _excellent_ trip. But that knowledge, and even the comfort of knowing that Bruce is _safe_ , of having the other man next to him, doesn’t ease the heaviness invading Clark’s chest. Frowning slightly, he looks out the small, double-paned window. For a long moment, his gaze is captured by the slowly-changing sky, until a flight attendant comes by and asks him to tuck his bag under his seat more securely.

Clark realizes he’s been searching the sky for any lingering signs of a long-gone planet.

He smiles at the flight attendant and gives his bag a (gentle) shove. This only distracts him momentarily from the sour emotion that roils through his being. _Even if Krypton hadn’t exploded, I couldn’t see it from here. Probably_. But that isn’t quite the source of his current pique. It’s more the sudden thought that while Ma may have met (and approved of) Bruce, his birth parents never will.

As if sensing his mood shift, Bruce starts to twitch, and mutter. Clark sighs, lays a gentle hand on the other man’s shoulder, and murmurs soothing things to Bruce until his boyfriend’s face goes slack once again. Clark wishes he could join him— but he’s too keyed up for sleep. He decides to make another visit to the fortress.

30,000 feet below, Earth keeps spinning, the universe expanding, and somewhere, pieces of Krypton— the rubble of his home world— float on in the void.

April 4th comes around and everything in the manor goes quiet and still as a mausoleum. As if the life has been drained from the building— oxygen against the vacuum of space. Clark can practically _feel_ the ghosts that dance through the ancestral Wayne home (their presence raises goosebumps on his flesh), just as he can almost see the white sheets and dust that must’ve covered most of the rooms when Bruce was gone breaking his body in order to become Batman. But the _history_ that drowns Bruce’s eyes worries him more than the sudden silence and the lingering ghosts.

 _What_ , Clark wonders, _had the manor looked like when **I** died?_

As the sun sets, Clark silently follows Bruce outside and stands, like his shadow, behind him as Bruce observes Martha Wayne’s tombstone.

This is the first time he’s been back here, but it’s evident that this is a well-trodden tradition for Bruce— it’s evident that his grief is **worn** ; an old, favorite-but-threadbare pair of pants that the wearer can’t bear to toss out. This is the way Clark is ‘introduced’ to Bruce’s mother. And then he’s struck by a thought: _theirs is a solitary love, an orphaned adoration_. Like Clark himself, Bruce will never get to show off his boyfriend to his parents. He watches Bruce’s shoulders shake, and thinks, _there are some hurts that never fade_.

When the light dies, they go back inside, and Clark holds Bruce in his arms until the other man falls asleep.

“How are things between you and Bruce?” Diana asks quietly, a week later, after the most recent league meeting.

“They’re good,” Clark replies softly— by this point, everyone has shared their civilian identities (even Bruce), but nobody aside from Wonder Woman knows about their relationship.

She smiles. “I am glad.”

“Yeah. I am too.”

Summer arrives. Tornado season is in full-swing now. “Yes, dear, of course I’ve been keeping an eye on the weather alerts,” Ma replies somewhat tensely. This time of year is hard on them _both_.

“Good,” Clark says. He closes his eyes briefly, and tries not to see his father’s pale, resolute face. “I… I just _worry_. You know?”

Ma sighs. He can picture her, holding a hand over her eyes as she leans against the kitchen wall and balances the landline between her shoulder and ear. “I know, Clark, honey. I know.” _I miss him too_.

This time, Bruce is the one to hold him together. _Jonathan Kent_ , reads the simple inscription upon the plain headstone, _Beloved Father and Husband_ , _1965 – 2007_. The Smallville graveyard is quiet and deserted— save for the three of them: the two Kents, and Bruce Wayne. His Ma is largely silent, except for the subdued sound of her crying. Bruce is at his left, a soundless succor against the tempest of Clark’s grief. Though the sky is large and still, it’s this same hush that screeches inside of his head, it’s this noiselessness that numbs him, that grinds away at his ability to hold it together. Because today, the quiet feels like it’s the eye of a storm.

Bruce’s hand is warm on his shoulder, but all Clark can do is listen for the warning signs of an incoming tornado as his mother cries and his boyfriend’s pulse continues to thrum steadily.

June 26th is swelteringly hot. All of Gotham seems to become blanketed in a lackadaisical listlessness. But despite the heat, the citizens carry on, wiping their sweaty brows, and leaning into the cool shadows when they can. The cloudless sky is remorseless enough that it hurts even Superman’s eyes, and its searing, fevered blue is almost a perfect match for the sentiments that ripple in Bruce’s eyes.

Sometimes, it _scares_ Clark how Batman and his city seem to mirror one another.

The heavy, lethargic atmosphere of the day emulsifies into an intense, deluge of an evening. Clark hovers silently in the Batcave, and listens to the not-so-distant sounds of pealing thunder and pounding rain as they scour the city. Tonight Batman’s mood seems to be just as tempestuous as Gotham’s weather.

Clark watches Bruce suit up, and can’t help but note the stone-like quality of his silence. Can’t help but observe and **worry** over the tautness Bruce carries himself with this evening— as if he too knows his grief is a lightning strike waiting to happen; it’s only a question of _who_ it will hit when it does—

He can practically _taste_ the tension that fizzles in the oppressive ozone between them.

Bruce obviously senses his worry and is _annoyed_ by it. Clark understands Bruce’s annoyance, kind of, and he also understands the reason Bruce hasn’t said anything is that he doesn’t want a fight with Clark. He understands this, even if it doesn’t **stop** him from worrying.

Clark doesn’t say anything as Batman slams the batmobile’s door shut and tears out of the cave—

The storm system breaks up around one in the morning, and Gotham’s streets are left quiet and reflective. “Oh! Master Clark… you’re here,” Alfred says. He’s just walked down into the cave, holding a tray of post-patrol snacks, and has obviously come-up short because of Clark.

He blinks, feeling anxious, uncertain. Though Bruce’s father-figure has given his approval, Clark’s still not entirely sure what Alfred thinks of him; for Superman, not being able to read someone is a _terrifying_ prospect. “Er, yeah. Batman’s not back yet.”

Alfred suddenly looks alarmed. He sets the tray down on the computer desk. “You did not go out on patrol with him?”

Now Clark feels worried. “No, I didn’t.” _Should I have?_

Alfred gives him an inscrutable look. But his words are reassuring: “Master Bruce’s moods are… shall I say, _fickle_. But I do not believe your company would prove unwelcome.” _Whatever you may have done, he would have reacted poorly. Go to him now. Go to him, and bring him back_.

“Alright,” Superman says. _Don’t worry, I’ll watch over him_. He flies from the cave and hovers above Gotham, listening for the familiar sound of Batman’s heartbeat. The lights of the city glow in the shimmering ink-like surface of the many puddles.

September’s chill descends over Metropolis, and Jonathan Kent’s absence aches like how Clark imagines the chill in the air does for normal people.

Two weeks later, he feels that cold for himself as he bleeds out.

“Goddamn it, Superman! _Stay_ with me,” Batman barks. Clark wheezes, shivering in the night air— he’s shirtless, and the cool temperature paired with the blood loss aren’t doing him any favors. Bruce is bent over him, kryptonite scalpel, and tongs, balanced carefully in his hands. Cyborg, a newer hero, is holding a light up behind him. The Martian Manhunter— another new hero— is keeping the crowd at bay.

Clark shivers again, and tries not to groan as he feels Bruce insert the tongs into his wound. _My eyes are so heavy, and it hurts— everything **hurts** — and the world is white noise, save for the too-loud, too- **scared** scream of Bruce’s humming pulse. _“Stay with me, Superman,” Batman hisses. Clark feels the tongs (still buried in his flesh) tremble, because Batman’s ever-steady hands are _trembling_. “Just stay with me.”

 _Okay_ , Clark thinks, _Okay. I’ll try_. He keeps his blurry gaze focused on Batman’s grim features. He doesn’t think about how _odd_ it is that Bruce’s face— at least, the part he can see— is spotted by dirt, just as he doesn’t wonder why Batman smells like **_grave dirt_**. He doesn’t think about _any_ of those things until later.

“Vandal Savage is behind the attacks,” Batman says grimly. Clark frowns. _There’s something… Bruce sounds **off**_. But he can’t place his finger on why. The league, minus Arthur, plus Cyborg (Victor Stone) and the Martian Manhunter (J’ohn J’onzz), are gathered in the Watchtower’s conference room for a war council. They have just been brutally attacked. Attacked so precisely that—

“It’s almost as if Savage, and his accomplices, knew exactly what would injure us most,” Wonder Woman says slowly.

“I know!” Flash agrees. “It’s a good thing that Bats here is a quick thinker! I never would’ve been able to escape that trap without him.”

“Same here,” Green Lantern admits grudgingly.

During this whole exchange, Batman stays silent. Clark frowns, and looks more closely at him. He still doesn’t know what’s wrong, but, clearly, _something_ is. As Superman looks to Batman, everyone else does too. Batman, already looking edgy, and tired, goes still. He doesn’t meet Superman’s eyes.

Clark’s stomach hollows out— Bruce only reacts like this when he’s afraid. Or **hiding** something. _No_. **_No_**. _Nonononononono_.

“That’s because Vandal Savage _was_ aware of every one of your weaknesses— and mine,” Bruce says.

“How?” Clark asks bluntly.

Bruce looks at him. Even though the lenses obscure his eyes, Clark _sees_ Bruce’s dark, dark gaze.

“What’d he do to you?” Hal asks, unintentionally diverting the league’s focus.

The tension in the room snaps like a cut rope. Bruce’s jaw twitches, and Clark hears his breath stutter. It’s deathly silent. For a moment, his tremulous anger evaporates. _The dirt. The trembling hands. The **smell**. Oh, god. Oh, god oh god oh god_.

“He sent Bane,” Batman ~~lies~~ says matter-of-factly.

Diana’s eyes narrow, and Clark senses her inquisitive gaze slide to him. He knows what she’s thinking, too, because he has already thought the same: _What could Vandal Savage do to Batman that he is sitting here, arguably the **least** damaged of all of them? How could one man— even immortal and deviously clever, but a stranger all the same— know the perfect way to take each and every member of the Justice League down? _

He couldn’t. But **Batman** could.

Diana meets Clark’s waiting gaze. Her brow furrows, and Clark doesn’t know _what_ his face is doing in response, but whatever it is, it causes Wonder Woman’s expression to smooth over— like marble. But it is a cool, stable marble, not the icy or condemning kind. He is, ever so slightly, relieved.

“May I point out that this is a subject which can be discussed at a later date? We are _all_ tired, injured, and I fear nothing productive will be said here,” Diana suggests.

Cyborg and J’ohn glance at each other. Cyborg shrugs. “I don’t really know if I have a vote or not? So whatever you guys agree on is fine by me.”

“For me as well,” Martian Manhunter echoes.

Bruce’s jaw tenses. “I don’t see why we can’t conclude the meeting _now_.”

Hal blinks. He sighs. “You know, I can’t _believe_ I’m saying this, but… but I agree with Spooky. I want to know which bastard was behind this, and give ‘em a piece of my mind.” Clark winces as he hears Batman’s gauntlets creak. Wonder Woman frowns slightly.

Flash looks hesitant. “I... Well, to be honest, I’m _exhausted_. Diana’s right. We’re alive, so this can wait until later.”

Everyone turns to Clark. He feels both Diana and Bruce’s heavy stares upon his face. “I agree with Wonder Woman: this can wait. Meeting adjourned.” Batman practically jumps to his feet and strides from the room. Superman steels his nerves, and chases after him.

He barely catches Flash’s, “What’s with those two?” he’s so distracted.

Batman’s uncharacteristically-heavy footsteps lead Clark towards Bruce’s oft-unused Watchtower quarters. The other man’s heart beats like thunder in Superman’s ears, and Batman’s erratic breath is a tornado. “Bruce!” he calls out. But the other man ignores him— or doesn’t hear him— and his bootsteps only get heavier, and quicker, like he thinks he can outpace his problems. “Bruce! Come on, talk to me.”

Batman suddenly spins, and there’s fire in his eyes, and venom in his mouth, and rage in his heart. He looks like vengeance incarnate, hell itself. Except for how his hands shake, his breath catches, and for the fact that Clark _knows_ he is covered in dirt from his parents’ graves. “Why?” Bruce finally spits out. “You know what I— _why_ stop me?”

Clark feels heat gather in his eyes, for one split second, and he bottles his rage— because _yes_ , he is **_angry_**. He is so very, very angry ~~and hurt~~ at Bruce’s mistrust, his mistake— and he carefully places it in the quiet, dark part of his mind where the rest of his rage lives. Clark hopes that this part of him never sees the light of day. “Yes, I know,” he says coolly. “I know, Bruce. And I _am_ angry— very angry. But now is not the time.”

Bruce flies forward, until he is in Clark’s face; he can smell the salt of unshed tears, hear the grinding of Bruce’s teeth. “Why. Not? Is this because of _us_? Are you trying to **protect** me, Kal? I don’t need your—”

“Yeah, you’ve made that rather _obvious_ , Batman,” Clark snaps. “But no! It’s not about _us_ , or me trying to protect you. I did it because, god help me, I _don’t_ believe you should be kicked out of the league for this, and if we had a vote tonight— don’t think I didn’t realize you were going to tell everyone it was _you_ who came up with those plans— you would’ve been booted out immediately.”

“Well this little delay of yours isn’t going to _stop_ that, Clark! Because if you can’t see the necessity of those plans, I’ll q—”

“‘Necessity?’” Clark asks, flabbergasted. “After— after _all that_ you think keeping plans on how to **kill** us is—”

“NOT kill. Incapacitate. And yes, Superman! Can’t you see? We’re the most powerful force on the planet, and if any one of us went bad, it could spell disaster for the world. We _need_ to be able to stop that from happening. So my plans _are_ necessary. But, clearly, if you cannot see that, then I no longer belong here. And if _you_ can’t work with me, well… What’re the chances of anyone else being able to?”

Bruce goes to walk away, but Clark grabs his arm. “You’re not thinking clearly! You can’t— you can’t just _quit the league_ , Bruce. Yes, it was… irresponsible in the extreme to have those- those contingencies, and to let them get _stolen_ , but I’m not letting you throw this away because…” he trails off. Clark feels physically incapable of saying, ‘because you’re reeling from having to dig yourself _out of a grave_.’

Bruce just _stares_ at him. “You’re putting your _life_ in my hands.”

“… Yes.” _I already have. I love you, still_.

“That’s a _mistake_.” _I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. I almost **killed** you_. Bruce vanishes through his room’s sliding door. Clark stands still, letting his internal tremoring subside. Then he walks away.

But twenty minutes later, he’s brought back by the soft, near-silent sound of weeping.

He’s still in the suit— he’s been pacing in the observatory, thinking about what to do tomorrow, or the day after, or whenever the shitstorm hits the fan (because it _will_ )— when Bruce’s distraught cries (muffled by the sound of running water) reach his ears. Before a conscious thought enters his mind, Clark finds himself in front of Batman’s door, inputting his emergency code into the keypad.

The door slides open with a soft beep, and then Clark’s in the bathroom.

The hot steam overwhelms him for a second. Clark blinks, and is able to focus on Bruce. He takes a (loud) step forward, but Bruce either doesn’t notice him or is ignoring him. It’s then that Clark hears the odd _scraping_ sound. With a dawning horror, he enters the shower— not minding how he is instantly soaked— and steps close to Bruce’s side.

The sound is Bruce’s nails, scrubbing over his already red, raw-looking, soapy hands.

Swallowing thickly, he grabs Bruce’s hands. Bruce gulps loudly once, twice, three times, and then his head comes to rest against Clark’s chest and he makes a sound like he’s _choking_. When his legs give out, Clark carefully guides them both to the floor and he sits directly under the stream of water.

Hours, days, _centuries_ , later, Bruce’s breath hitches, and the storm, abruptly, subsides. Bruce lifts his head, and his eyes are puffed and red. “I-it wasn’t B-B-Bane,” he whispers.

“I know.” Bruce closes his eyes and shivers. Clark blinks, and it’s as if he’s removed from the shower, but can still _see_ them. He’s soaked, Bruce is naked, and surely _freezing_ by now. He reaches out, and gently cups Bruce’s chin in his fingers. “What do you need?”

“P-pretend you’re no- not mad. Just for t-tonight.” _I need **you**_. Clark helps Bruce to his feet, towels him off, lotions and bandages his hands, then dresses him.

He guides Bruce to the bed, turns off the light, and contemplates the coming storm as Bruce slowly falls asleep.

Tomorrow dawns, but somehow, the meeting doesn’t. Clark suspects that one way or another— he doesn’t know _how_ — Diana is behind it. He and Bruce offer each other stilted, awkward goodbyes and then Clark is too busy reassuring Metropolis’ populace of his continual well-being to think about it. Unless Bruce has a nightmare, which happens twice that week, he stays out of Gotham. Because Clark wasn’t lying; he’s _still_ ~~mad~~ furious.

He and Bruce have known each other in some capacity for about five years now; they’ve been **sleeping** together for a year of that. He’s seen Bruce at his worst— in more ways than one— and Bruce has seen the same from him. They’ve shared all aspects of their lives, worked in life-or-death situations together, been _partners_ , in all senses of the word, for a long time.

So when Clark remembers lying in the streets of his city, outside his workplace, with a bullet in his chest because of _Batman_ — indirectly at least— he is angry. But, more than his anger, he is hurt. When Clark thinks about Bruce’s deliberate, on-going omission, it feels as if there are a thousand kryptonite bullets embedded in his chest.

He doesn’t call Bruce, doesn’t speak to him unless absolutely necessary, and Bruce doesn’t call him. It is profoundly lonely.

The league and Cyborg and J’ohn assemble two weeks after the attack. Diana’s shoulder bears a new, pinkish scar, Flash still looks a little pale around his mouth, and Hal holds himself more tensely than usual, but everyone seems well on the way to recovery. Clark’s chest is only marred by the faintest off-white indent… well, by that and the **_mess_** of scar tissue left by Doomsday. Batman, unsurprisingly, is already in the conference room when Superman arrives. He suspects that the other man was the first to get here.

Flash, Green Lantern, and Wonder Woman all look curiously between Batman and Superman, who are not seated next to each other, as has become custom. Clark takes his regular place. Bruce is across from him, in the seat nearest to the door. Despite himself, Superman’s jaw twitches. As J’ohn sits, the room falls silent.

Diana clears her throat. “As you all know, we are here to discuss the attack—”

“Yeah. And like I said _last_ time, I wanna know which bastard’s behind this,” Hal interjects.

Wonder Woman’s lips purse momentarily, but she makes no move to continue speaking. Clark’s gaze flits to Batman, whose mouth is so thin it’s almost disappeared. Slowly, he feels the collective attention of the rest of the league land on Batman as well; he’s their strategist, after all, and so _he_ is the one who they hope will come up with a plan of action. _Ironic, because Batman’s **plan of action** is what got them here in the first place_.

The room is silent.

“You wanted to know who ‘the bastard’ behind this is, Lantern,” Bruce says dryly, “it’s me.” The room’s barometric pressure drops as the cumulonimbus clouds gather, and the winds begin to swirl. Clark stays silent.

“What are you—”

“I don’t understand!”

“Are you serious, Bruce? What were you—”

“HOLD UP A MINUTE! Are you seriously saying that you’re the one behind this?” Hal’s too-loud voice cuts through the clamor. Diana’s tense gaze briefly meets his, then they turn to look at Hal and Bruce, who are sharing a similarly intense look. Bruce’s jaw twitches, and Clark hears his teeth grind together. The winds pick up speed.

“Yes, it was me.”

“What the ever-loving _fuck_ , Spooky—”

“Let me explain, Jordan.”

“You’d _better_ fucking explain.”

Clark grimaces briefly as he hears Batman’s gauntlets creak. “My plans were never meant to kill. Only incapacitate. I’ve already looked into the cave’s security and rectified the problem,” Bruce says coolly.

Flash snorts dismissively. “Some comfort that is.” Hal’s head jerks in an angry nod. J’ohn blinks, and Cyborg’s human eye flits between all of them, uncertain. Only Wonder Woman and Superman have yet to comment. Slowly, the others seem to realize this as well, because Superman soon feels six pairs of eyes upon him. Hal’s gaze is especially insistent.

“Don’t you have something to say, Clark? I mean, you…” _you almost **died**. Again_.

Clark exhales long and slow. Bruce’s pulse beats steadily on, prepared for whatever punishment the league chooses to enact. “I believe Batman owes us further explanation.” Bruce’s eyes are hidden by the lenses, but he can picture their turbulent blue anyway. For the first time today, Batman’s heartbeat stutters.

“As I said earlier, my contingency plans were never meant to be lethal. They were merely meant to incapacitate. I… _regret_ what happened to you all because of them, but— but I do _not_ , and never will, regret having them. We are a powerful organization, full of powerful, potentially dangerous beings. For Earth’s safety, there must be some plan in place to **stop** us. I never told you because for a contingency to be effective, it must not be able to be planned for.” _I never meant to use it_.

Bruce stands jerkily. “Consider this my voluntary resignation.” The storm howls against Clark’s ears. His lungs feel ready to implode from his prolonged breathlessness.

He wants to scream, but in this tornado, no one would hear him.

November blooms cold and hard and bitter. Uncharacteristically, Gotham’s harsh winter weather decides to cross the bay, and Metropolis is covered in a dusting of snow. Somewhere, Clark knows, Batman is on a wind-swept rooftop, brooding. He sighs, and almost brings a hand reflexively to his chest when it aches. Lois, passing by his cubicle at the _Planet_ , gives Clark an odd look.

It’s been nearly two months since he and Bruce spoke.

The night of November 29th is dark, and nearly starless. However, the full moon’s light bathes the flat gray clouds in an eerie glow. There is no wind, but the oppressive heaviness of the clouds promises more snow. Wayne manor is largely dark, and he can only detect Alfred’s ever-steady presence inside the building. Bruce’s high-strung heartbeat is somewhere else.

Clark finds Bruce outside, in nothing but a thin overcoat and thick scarf. He is standing at the bay-side edge of his expansive property, overlooking the dark waters that lap at the bottom of the cliff. The bright lights of the sometimes-hellish city Batman calls home are reflected in them. Bruce’s back is to him, and he doesn’t seem to pick up on Clark’s presence. He silently takes in the scene, and observes Bruce’s shaking shoulders.

“There’s a word in Kryptonese,” Clark says slowly, “that translates— roughly— to: ‘appreciation of the ‘erstwhile’ and ‘annihilation.’”

Bruce starts. The shaking subsides, and he tucks his hands into his pants pockets. He still does not meet Clark’s gaze. So instead, Clark goes to him. He lands softly besides Bruce. The other man huffs, glances quickly at him, and looks out at the dark waves again.

“So, ‘finding beauty in the ephemeral?’” Bruce asks. He fixes Clark with a somber look.

Clark thinks about it for a moment. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Bruce nods, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a sharp, ugly smile. “Is there a word for those whose eyes are captured only by that kind of beauty?”

Clark hesitates. He listens to the distant sound of the waves, the closer tide of Bruce’s heartbeat. Two contrasting, yet equally-soothing, sounds. “I don’t know,” he replies honestly. _I never learned my native language fluently_.

“I see,” Bruce says quietly. _I’m sorry_. _I’m sorry for **everything**_.

“Yeah. I’ll have to look it up sometime.” _I know, love_. _I know_.

**Author's Note:**

> Read the **prequel** [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439675). 
> 
> Where’s Aquaman? Chillin’ in Atlantis ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ . 
> 
> As in “You Are and I Am,” canon is EXTREMELY wishy-washy here. I combined _Justice League: Doom _and the animated JL series, so just roll with it.__ The links in the beginning of this story aren’t mine. I just borrowed them. 
> 
> My **60 th** fic! 🥳


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